


Clothes Minded

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fallen Castiel, Frottage, Jealous Castiel, M/M, Post Season/Series 08 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:11:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel take a trip to the clothing store. Shirts and pants not included. Post 8x23.</p>
<p>  <em>Cas unhooked his hands and threw them over his head against the wall. His next kiss was hard, full of desperation and need, as if he were going to spontaneously combust without physical contact. Dean grunted out his surprise, a slave to the passionate heat of lips and another body against his own.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Clothes Minded

Dean checked his watch. He’d been in there at least thirty minutes. How fucking hard was it to try on clothes? Dean huffed and fidgeted in his seat outside the fitting room. Five more minutes went by. No sign of Cas.

“Come on, Cas. Where the hell are you?”

Just to keep his hands busy, he checked his phone for the fifth time. No messages from Sam—a good sign for once. Maybe he’d finally listened to his big brother, nestled himself in blankets and was getting some shuteye after the shit with the trials. He should be home too, watching porn or eating pie. Instead, he was stuck here because a certain fallen angel had suddenly decided that the flannel shirts and stuffy jackets weren’t his “style.”

Dean frowned and picked at the hole in his jeans. What the fuck was wrong with flannel and jackets? And when had Cas developed a “style”? It hadn’t even been a month yet since Heaven had opened up and rained angels.

He slumped back in his seat, laser-focused on a clothing tag when a pair of legs walked by. Long, toned legs that seemed to go on for ages. They disappeared under the hem of a knee-length pencil skirt, black high-heels accentuating tanned calves. His eyes traveled up her tiny waist, along the nape of her bare neck. Wisps of blonde hair teased at her skin, the rest of it swept up in a bun. He almost dropped his phone when she looked over her shoulder at him. Red lips, white smile and clear blue eyes—and a wink that nearly blew him over. She held a dangerous mixture of confidence, charm and attitude; the stuff that old pin-up girls were born with. Southern apple pie; sweet and spicy with just enough jalapeno to kick his ass.

Dean gave her a nod and smiled back. He fiddled with his phone again for no other reason than to keep his mind busy, to keep him from thinking about what might’ve been. If he’d been his old self—cocky in every sense of the word—he would’ve gotten her number and taken her to a classy restaurant he couldn’t afford. Wined her, dined her, and treated her like the lady she was. Fuck her real good in a hotel he’d snuck into and blow his load way too early. He’d promise to call her when he got back into town, but he never would.

If he’d been his old self… but things had changed.

He had changed.

Dean looked at his watch again. Forty minutes. He frowned and typed out a hasty— ** _u fall asleep in there or something?_** —to Cas’ phone. A distant phone blip signaled that Cas had at least gotten the text, but that didn’t mean he’d—

“Is that your brother in there?”

Dean jerked his head up. Miss Apple Pie smiled at him, pairs of men’s jeans slung over her arm. He hadn’t even noticed she worked here until right then. “Uhh—“

“My name is Halley.”

“Halley,” he repeated, testing her name on his tongue. “Like the comet?”

_You dumbass._

“Uh, yeah,” she laughed a little. “Like the comet.”

His brain grinded to a halt, any function above the waist—totally fucked. All he could manage was a stupid smile and a whole lot of staring.

“Your name?”

“Um—“

“I need your assistance, Dean.”

His voice broke like thunder, loud and reverberating, admonishing him like the disapproval of a parent.

Dean pointed toward the dressing room and then rubbed the nape of his neck. “Dean.”

“Dean,” she said, honey in her mouth. “Nice to meet you, Dean.”

He fumbled over his words again. She beat him to the punch.

“Are you—” She laughed and looked down. “Do you want to—maybe—“

“Dean.”

Halley arched a brow and glanced toward the fitting rooms. Dean smiled when she looked back at him, the question evident in her eyes. He cleared his throat. “He’s uh—he’s adjusting,” he explained.

Her pretty face displayed her confusion.

“To—“ _Being human._ “Never mind.”

Dean pocketed his phone and stood up, wiping clammy hands on his jeans. “I’m gonna—“ He pointed to the dressing rooms. She frowned. “You look very pretty today, uh—Halley.”

He flashed another smile and headed toward the fitting rooms, ducking inside. “Cas,” he hissed into the maze of individual stalls.

“I’m here, Dean.”

Dean followed the deep voice to a small fitting room at the end. Closed, wooden slats and a flimsy handle that probably didn’t even lock. He knocked on the door with two curled fingers. “You decent?”

No answer.

Dean turned the handle—unlocked—and peeked inside. Cas stood there, facing one of the mirrors, in nothing but his underwear. Dean sucked in a breath and squeezed his way inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Dude, you’re not even dressed.”

Cas glanced at him sidelong with a wounded expression, then looked away. He quietly studied himself in the mirror. What he saw, Dean didn’t know. A fallen angel lost in a world not his own, maybe. A man without a home. Unwanted. Useless.

Dean could relate.

As Cas stood there, he couldn’t help but let his eyes chase the curve of his back, down to his ass. He traced the smooth lines of his toned physique, noted the quiet power of muscle beneath his skin. Every inch of him—his chest, those hipbones—begged to be explored with his mouth; kissed, _worshiped_. He committed everything to memory, imagined himself between those thighs, surrounded by warm, soft skin. With every movement, every inflection, Cas exhibited grace, a subtle otherworldliness that was—fucking sexy as hell.

Dean swallowed hard and kept it cool, leaning against the wall as if he didn’t give a fuck—the usual Dean Winchester. But the way Cas slouched made him pause, made him pay attention to the frown on his face; something trapped between anger and thought. Something was up with Cas. He could feel it.

“Talk to me.”

Cas looked at him through the reflection in the mirror, then dropped his eyes, away from his hard stare. “Is that woman still out there?”

Something intangible cut beneath the surface of his tone. Knife sharp. Almost… venomous.

“What?” Dean frowned, confused. “What woman?”

His glare was sharper. Dean practically winced at its bite.

“Halley? Yeah, I guess. She works here or whatever.”

“Halley,” he intoned, dripping the name like a guillotine’s blade. His frown moved into “pissed off” territory.

“What’s your deal, Cas?”

No answer.

Dean watched him shift from foot to foot, maybe not wholly comfortable in his own skin. He’d seen that look on Cas’ face before and something about the simmer in his blue eyes made him shudder. That angry flicker didn’t belong to a simple man; it belonged to a spinning tornado bent on destruction. In this case, there was only one cause for that kind of reaction.

“What, you jealous?”

Cas clenched his jaw.

“—and now you’re giving me the silent treatment?”

Cas didn’t respond.

Dean growled low in his throat. “You know what, Cas? Get over it. Last time this happened, you blew half our ammo on “target practice” and left holes in the concrete.”

“Because you flirted with her.”

“I _smiled_ at her.”

“You winked at her.”

Dean threw his hands up. “God forbid I wink at someone. I didn’t fuck her.”

“But you wanted to.”

“You know what? I don’t have time for this shit.” He turned to leave. “Get your fucking clothes. We’re leaving.”

Dean had his hand on the door’s handle when Cas rushed him from behind. It happened too quickly—the turn, the hard push against the wall. He had an eyeful of Cas’ face, chiseled with the same sort of righteousness he’d seen right before the angel had blown away a fuckton of demons. His fingers were claws in his jacket, his blue eyes wild. Turning completely human had subjected him to unpredictable mood swings, to emotions more brutal than even he had experienced. What he was going through, Dean couldn’t imagine.

Like a passing storm, the anger in his face smoothed over. Something else, some other emotion, filled the cracks left behind. The flare in his eyes had softened, faded out, and gone hollow. The hurt he found there, the vacant, almost lost expression on his face—they were signs of fear, abandonment. He knew them like the back of his hand.

“Hey,” Dean whispered.

Without warning, Cas crushed their mouths together. He didn’t have time to soothe his pain, to tell him he’d never leave him for some chick in a store. The rush of hot and wet invaded, his _dominance_ sending a bullet train straight to his dick, making it harder than gun barrel. And since he didn’t want to shoot off a load here in a dressing room—

Dean pushed him back to arm’s length. “Dude, what the hell are you doing?”

Cas unhooked his hands and threw them over his head against the wall. His next kiss was hard, full of desperation and need, as if he were going to spontaneously combust without physical contact. Dean grunted out his surprise, a slave to the passionate heat of lips and another body against his own. His hips did the talking instead, thrusting forward to grab at the friction. The slow, hard drag along Cas’ hard cock left him speechless, a groan teasing at the edge of his vocal chords. Dean panted out a quick breath and kissed him back, sucking on his lower lip. The noise in the back of Cas’ throat—it sounded like a cross between a hymnal and sin. Sweet yet so fucking filthy.

It only encouraged him, sent him off on a mission to fuck him until his soul hurt; until all of Cas’ broken pieces were put together again. But not here. Not in a fucking dressing room at a clothing store on the edge of nowhere.

“Cas—“ Dean mumbled past their lips. He pulled his head back, knocking it into the wall. “This isn't the time or the place.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Cas hadn’t lost his authority, his voice deep and rough like he’d been drinking whiskey his whole life. No room for argument, Cas kissed him again, stubble scraping against his chin in a way that wasn’t too unpleasant. In fact, he kinda liked it. Hell, he liked everything about him; the smell of him, kissing him, fucking him. Even small things like watching him eat popcorn, trying to cook or—

Dean sucked in a breath when Cas got on his knees and fumbled with his belt. He wanted to tell Cas that he didn’t need to do this, that he didn’t need to prove anything. Just because Cas was human didn’t fucking mean he’d dump him for the next hot thing that came along.

But when Cas’ wet mouth slid over his dick—

Dean threw his head back into the wall. He didn’t even notice the pain snaking down his neck. Couldn’t. Not with Cas sucking him off like he was. Dean blamed Cas’ dick-sucking skills and his explosive sex drive on the porn he let him watch. And the sex.

Definitely the sex.

Dean ran his fingers through Cas’ messy hair, held him still while he rocked his hips forward. Slow at first, teasing himself with Cas’ tight, hot mouth. He breathed through every thrust, biting his bottom lip to stop him from groaning. The easy slip-and-slide, the hard press of his lips on his shaft—Dean swallowed back a groan and dared to look down. Cas looked up at him with sex-blown eyes and mouth full of cock, and it was the sexiest thing he’d ever fucking seen. The way Cas took all of it, down to the root. Dean let out a puff of air, watching his dick slide past his lips, disappearing behind blissed-out black eyes and messy hair. He rubbed his fingers into Cas’ scalp, thumb against the hair curls behind his ear. A tiny gesture to tell him how much he cared.

Cas was obviously done with the sweet, romantic shit.

He grabbed onto his hips with biting fingers and thumbs, pulling them closer once, twice, then over and over. Fast and furious, urging him to fuck his mouth. A surprised gasp and a strangled groan canceled each other out. Dean threw his head back into the wall again.

“What’s going on in there?”

He hadn’t noticed anyone in the next room. A woman’s voice. _Halley_.

“I—uh—“ Dean started, voice cracking over sex. “Just… just stubbed my toe, ma’am.”

Cas picked the opportune time to groan around his dick.

“What was that?” A pause and then, “Is there someone in there with you?”

“What? No!”

Cas’ little smile was his only warning before the high-powered sucking started. Dean could barely see straight. The incredible pressure, the fast and relentless rhythm. Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He tried to keep quiet, to prevent them from being caught. But when the head of his cock hit the back of Cas’ throat—

He let out a groan. Loud enough for the entire fucking store to hear.

A gasp cut through the sex. “Are you two—“

“No—“ but the word drowned in his panting. And if Halley wasn’t onto them already, Cas made sure of it by pushing his hips back harder into the wall, over and over. The drumbeat of their fucking, like a headboard rocking in a hotel room. The flimsy walls shook, their groans—

“Oh my God,” Halley whispered. “I’m getting the manager!”

But Cas wasn’t done with his little show of territorial dominance. He angled his head, relaxed his jaw even more and—

“Holy fuck!”

His dick popped into his throat. No gag reflex. Just… Dean gasped as Cas swallowed around him, creating the most ridiculously fucking hot…

He was gonna lose it. The pressure built in balls hard and fast. So fucking close. Dean pressed his head back and fucked into Cas’ throat, as much as Cas would let him. So hot fucking hot here like this, letting him take control. Control suddenly wretched from him when Cas pushed him back, cock naked without his warmth.

Cas stood and thumbed down his underwear to his thighs. His hard cock settled against his lower belly, flush and wet with precome. Dean grabbed him and pulled him close, kissing him hard on the mouth. The angel had a devil’s smile on him, triumphant like he’d won some cheap prize at a fair. Fucking him in this small dressing room for the entire world to hear had been Cas’ little version of staking his claim. If only to tell Halley, or whoever else, that Dean was his. He could see it on Cas’ smug face.

“You little fucker,” Dean mumbled against his lips.

The clock had started ticking.

They slammed their bodies together hard, dicks sliding root-to-head, fast and rough. Cas circled his hand around the shafts, pumping them as they rocked into each other. The feeling… incredible, hard panting breaths taking up the space between them. They pressed their foreheads together as they fucked. His thighs quaked, the commotion down the hall—

Dean grabbed Cas’ ass and pulled him closer, fucking against him as hard as he could. The sound of flesh slapping together, their groans mixed with the smell of sex and sweat. Dean sucked on his finger long and slow, and pushed it inside of him. Cas called out his name, reaching his peak and spilling come over his stomach. Dean didn’t last much longer, coming hard and thick across Cas’ skin. Just in time for—

“They’re having sex in there!”

Like magnets with opposite polarity, they jumped back. Dean shed a layer of clothing, wiped himself off, and threw it to Cas. While he fumbled with his belt, Cas wiped his skin clean and jerked on his pants, zipped and pushed an arm through one of his shirt’s sleeves.

The door busted open.

Dean reacted first, pushing the burly manager back hard enough for Cas to squeeze through. Halley scooted to the opposite wall and pressed herself against it, hand to her chest, as if they were a pair of diseases passing by. Cas shot her a grin and hustled past. Dean could only offer her an embarrassing smile and a shrug.

Together, they ran out of the store, half-dressed and completely fucking satisfied. He hadn’t seen Cas smile like that since the fall. But he knew one thing for sure; flannel and hand-me-down jackets would have to be Cas’ style for a while. They weren’t going clothes shopping again anytime soon.


End file.
